The Tipping Point
by SincerelyNoted
Summary: Something has been eating at Matthew Williams. Something he's had to deal with alone for the past decade. Just when it seems like he's reached his limit, in comes a man who changes his life forever. With a new companion by his side, will Matthew finally let free the secret he's been harboring for so long? Or will his fear of losing the precious gift of friendship render him silent?
1. Prologue: Infringment of the Protocol

Prologue: Infringement of the Protocol

The time that no one believed would be had finally come. Gone were the meticulous speculations, the stubborn debunking, and the blind ignorance. No, this wasn't some hoax. It was real. It had started now, and no one could possibly deny it. The Protocol had failed miserably and everyone knew the damage was irreversible; they'd be fools to think otherwise. The world had transformed into something grave, degenerated into something so unfamiliar that it was difficult to believe that just twenty years prior, the world was something beautiful.

_"What's wrong with him?!"_

_"You idiots! _You_ did this to him!"_

_"What's happening? Oh, God! Why is this happening?"_

No, no one had expected this. Perhaps it was because no one had truly _seen_ the warning signs. Perhaps it was because they couldn't, or more likely because they didn't _want_ to. Suddenly, at that very moment, everything seemed bleak. Nothing had changed. Not even a little. Things were the way they had always been for the past few decades, but this time those who chose to turn a blind eye were forced to take notice.

_"Mon dieu, he's…!"_

_"No…no, no, no! You're gonna be alright! Y-You're gonna be fine!"_

But it seemed now that their acknowledgement, sought after for so long, was a little too late in coming.

**AN: This is only a prologue. A very vague one at that. Don't fret, the coming chapters will be of adequate length.**


	2. A Forgotten Face

A Forgotten Face

Matthew Williams slept soundly in his warm, plush bed, his body splayed every which way across the firm foam mattress as he snored softly. Matthew never used to snore, nor was he a wild sleeper. These were things more typical of his obnoxious brother. But things had changed over the past few decades, and not just for him, but for the rest of the world as well. His mind was constantly flooded with worry after worry as he thought about what was to become of his country, of him and his people. These terrifying thoughts clawed at his brain, haunting the Canadian in his dreams, and he found it had become increasingly difficult to get a good night's rest.

At the foot of his bed on the smooth laminate floor lie his pet polar bear, Kumajirou, who had just awoken from his deep slumber. He looked to the window, squinting out at the pink-stained sky and the warm, golden glow of the sun, which had just begun to rise. The husky bear yawned quite lengthily and stretched his stiff limbs, a consequence of sleeping on the floor. Kumajirou usually slept in bed with his owner, but the Canadian had become so stressed in the past few months that the poor bear often found himself on the floor after one of Matthew's nightmares. It would do him no good to continue subjecting himself to such rude awakenings and he opted instead to making the floor his temporary bed, at least until his owner improved. He frowned slightly as his sensitive ears picked up the man's snoring. The sound was slightly disturbing, but he'd become accustomed to the noise after hearing it for a few years. A low rumbling in his stomach interrupted his thought process.

Food first, thinking later.

Climbing up and onto the bed, he made to poke Canada awake, but stopped when he saw his owner's current state. His dirty blonde hair was a mess, a product of some pretty serious bed head, with curls and waves flying every which way. And there was a nice, fresh trail of drool making its way down his chin. To anyone else, such an appearance would be utterly repulsive, and perhaps even cause room for concern. But for Kumajirou it instilled in him the exact opposite reaction.

He was sleeping. He was actually sleeping.

After suffering for weeks upon weeks with mild insomnia, he seemed to have finally been able to put head to pillow. There were no lines in his brow, no frown on his lips. The man's breathing was slow and steady. He actually looked…peaceful. It was an expression he hadn't seen in a while. He'd missed it a lot, despite the sight of dried spit on his face. Kumajirou sighed inwardly, feelings of guilt rising in his chest. He couldn't wake him up now. Not like this. Quietly he hopped off the bed and padded out the door for the kitchen. Maybe he could get some breakfast himself. Matthew deserved all the sleep he could get. Kumajirou might have been just a bear, and he may have been difficult at times, but he was Canada's bear. And for as long as he had left on this earth, he would do everything he could to make his owner's life a little easier. A little more bearable.

Matthew jolted awake that morning to a loud bang, followed by the clanking and clattering of what sounded like pots and pans. Looking around frantically, he noticed that a certain bear was nowhere to be found and was overcome with worry.

"K-Kumajirou?" he whispered, his voice rasp in his groggy state. He was answered with more clanking and another loud crash. Thinking the worst, he hurried out of bed, quickly snatched his glasses from the nearby nightstand, and armed himself with his trusty hockey stick he always kept under his bed. True, it was just a hockey stick, but in the Canadian's hands it was something to fear. With the makeshift weapon tight in his grasp, he quietly slipped through the door and headed for the kitchen.

His steps seemed to get progressively slower and heavier as he neared the end of the hall until finally, he peeked around the corner. Well, the kitchen was an absolute mess. He noted the various cookware and spices spilled all over the floor with mild annoyance. But there was no sight of the intruder.

"Whoever you are you'd better show yourself right now. I-I've got a weapon that's just begging to be used!" he announced rather pathetically. His trembling voice betrayed the threatening words coming from his mouth. He heard what sounded like muffled grunting and furrowed his brows; he was losing his patience. This person decided to break into his home, ransack his kitchen, and then hide from him. It was too early in the morning for this nonsense.

"I said come out!"

Matthew gasped as a bushy white stub of a tail emerged from the pile of fallen cookware. And then gave a loud sigh accompanied by a good, hard facepalm. "Kumajirou…" he groaned, but couldn't help smiling at his pet's futile attempts to wiggle out of the mess. He placed his hockey stick against the wall and pulled the struggling bear free. "What in the world were you doing? I was really about to give you a good beating," he chuckled, gently setting the bear at his feet

"Hungry," he answered simply, or maybe it was a demand. With Kumajirou it was usually the latter.

Canada rolled his eyes. "Well, I wish you would have told me before you just about scared me half to death," he huffed and began to pick up the pots and pans. "Why didn't you just wake me up like you usually do?"

"You were tired." The bear saw him working on something late last night he didn't care to understand, but with the way the man's eyes were glued to his computer screen he knew it was something important. He didn't leave his office until around midnight.

Matthew was silent. He definitely wasn't expecting that kind of answer from the egocentric bear. He smiled and a blush rose to his cheeks. "Oh…that's sweet of you, Kuma."

The polar bear just shrugged, not one for outward sentiment. "Food."

"Alright, alright, you glutton," he laughed. "Right after I clean up _your_ mess."

The bear was a bit difficult at times, but even in the midst of the mountains of dishes Matthew couldn't help cracking a smile. And for Kumajirou that only meant one thing.

Mission accomplished.

**AN: Yes, Kumajirou does have a heart. After all, he's Canada's only support as Canada is his. People tend to forget about Kumajirou, so I made it a point to write a portion of the first chapter from his point of view. I enjoy reading all kinds of feedback, positive or negative so please don't be shy and review!  
**


	3. The Board Room

The Board Room

Canada took a deep breath before stepping into the empty elevator and exhaled as the doors closed, pressing the button for his designated floor. Yet another World Affairs Council meeting, otherwise known as the most unproductive gathering of nations to have ever come into existence. This was only the first of four they were required to attend each year, and although Matthew had been to hundreds in his lifetime, even he couldn't predict what would happen around the table that day. What he _did_ know, however, was that he could've stayed home that day. In fact, he could've stayed home the last meeting, and the meeting before that, and well, the rest was self-explanatory. After all, no one would notice. When he walked through those board room doors, he knew almost immediately that this day wouldn't any different.

"America, you git! You can't just leave before the meeting!" England shouted, jabbing his finger into a certain American's broad chest. Matthew, completely unnoticed, sighed inwardly and walked past the bickering nations to take his seat at the large, mahogany table. He noticed that most of the seats were empty, which wasn't unusual since the Canadian liked to arrive at meetings fairly early, but he found it odd that Germany was absent. He always he came early to these meetings, bringing a drowsy Italian along with him. France was snickering at the scene he sat watching before him, and Romano seemed to be pouting about something or the other while Spain, always his cheery self, attempted to lighten his mood.

"But I'm hungry!" Alfred whined childishly. "I'm just gonna run to the McDonald's down the street! Not like I'm running away or anything," he grumbled, crossing his arms. "Geez, I even came in early with you to help set up everything. At least show some appreciation by letting me get my McMuffin! How else is the hero supposed to formulate his ideas?"

"I _am_ grateful to you, America! That's why I baked you those scones," he insisted, pointing to the basket of blackened biscuits on the back table, surrounded by other, much more appealing, goods baked courteously by France. "You can have some more, you know. I made them for you after all," the Brit said, blushing slightly. "For helping me," he added hastily, so as to make it clear that he only did it because he was obligated, not because he actually wanted to. Because he totally didn't.

America felt his own face heating, but there was no way in hell he was going to eat another one of those lumps of charcoal. He only ate one because he didn't want to hurt Arthur's feelings and now that courageous act of kindness was coming back to bite him in the ass. He gulped loudly. "Well, I-"

France snorted, shaking his head. "We want Alfred to be conscious for the meeting, non?"

The Englishman's face flushed red with anger as he shot Francis the most threating scowl he could conjure. "Sod off, you pompous jackass!"

"Oh, just let the fat-ass get his damn food. You know he can't function properly without it," Romano blurted out, earning him a hard, blue eyed glare.

"Now, now. There's no need for insults, Lovi," Spain cooed, ruffling the Italian's hair.

"Don't touch me, bastard!" he snapped, but made no attempt to shrink away from the Spaniard's gentle touch.

Antonio frowned before apologizing. "Don't take what Lovi says to heart. He's just a little upset that Feli isn't here yet."

"I bet that potato bastard did something to him. I swear, if he hurt Feli in any way," he grumbled.

"Yes, it is rather strange that Germany and Italy aren't here. Germany's quite the stickler for time," England mused. America shrugged, taking his seat. "Maybe they're stuck in traffic."

"Or maybe they're stuck in bed," France suggested, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

"Shut it, frog. No one asked you," Arthur quipped, taking his seat as well.

"I'm sure they'll be here in time. Germany's never been late before," Canada offered reassuringly. If he had failed to wait for that lapse in conversation, his soft voice wouldn't have been audible and he probably wouldn't have been noticed. Everyone turned in the direction of the voice and was surprised to see the violet-eyed man sitting there.

"Mattie! I didn't even see you come in!" Alfred exclaimed excitedly.

Matthew gave a small smile, despite the still lingering feeling of disappointment. "Hey, Al. I'm surprised to see you here this early." It really was a nice change from the usual obnoxious entrance his brother always made.

"Yeah, well. Arthur needed my help and it would've been totally unheroic of me to refuse, so here I am." He gave a self-satisfied grin, unaware of the agitated glare he was receiving from the Brit beside him.

"Mon dieu, mon petit Matthieu! You look exhausted." The boy looked pale and he had dark circles underneath his eyes. "Did someone… keep you up last night?" Francis hinted, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Matthew grimaced. Of course he just had to be noticed when he was looking horrible. And Francis, he was just being himself, but Matthew couldn't help the pang of anger he felt at the man's teasing when he obviously wasn't looking, or feeling his best. For a split second, he had been somewhat relieved. Someone was concerned for him. Or so he thought.

The Canadian was interrupted before he could answer, and startled along with everyone else by the sound of the board room doors bolting open. The nations were all taken aback by the sight of the wild-eyed albino who stood smirking triumphantly in the doorway.


	4. An Unexpected Visitor

**AN: Happy almost New Year, my lovely readers! This chapter is quite long and I'm putting it out today because with school starting again next week I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update. I also want to thank those of you who have given such nice reviews, I love every one of them! Before I shut up, I noticed a few of you saying you were confused, and that's okay_._ This story is not black and white, it's one big patch of gray. Things will click and start to make sense in later chapters. Alright, read on!**

An Unexpected Visitor

Prussia snorted as he walked in, relishing in the fact that all eyes were on him. He laughed his signature laugh. No it wasn't just a laugh; it was some sort of maniacal cackle. "What's with your faces? I know my awesomeness is sometimes hard to handle, but the least you could do is give me a proper greeting!" He leaped onto the table and continued his little speech. "I, Prussia, the world's greatest nation, have graced you with my presence. Show some respect! Ach!" The silver-haired man's rambling was cut short with a swift blow to the back of his head by a very agitated German.

"Why must you always be so…troublesome," Ludwig groaned, glaring at his mess of a brother, who lie on the floor rubbing the newly formed knot on his head.

"Aw, Luddy don't be angry with him. He's just excited you let him come to the meeting," Italy said, clinging to the German's arm. The tension in Ludwig's body disappeared at the Italian's touch and he gave a defeated sigh.

Gilbert scoffed as he stood, brushing himself off. "If anything _you all _should be excited I'm here."

Germany cleared his throat. "I apologize for our tardiness…Mein bruder insisted on coming today."

"Well, you aren't really late Germany," England replied with a slight shrug. "We've still got ten minutes before the meeting starts." He turned around in his chair to look at Prussia. "If you're going to be here then you need to be awake, not snoring throughout the whole presentation," he said dryly.

"Ja ja, West already explained it to me on the way over here," he waved his hand dismissively. "I don't need another damn lecture."

Romano, who had been itching to say something since the trio entered the room, pulled away from Spain's comforting touch. "Get away from my brother, you potato bastard!"

Germany heaved a heavy sigh, not in the least bit intimidated by the angry Italian, and left to take his seat at the table. Italy followed and took his seat right next to him of course. "Hi, fratello!" he chirped, giving a quick wave.

"Did he do anything to you, Feliciano?" Lovino asked, sending an accusatory glare to the man next to his brother.

"Do anything? Oh, well…not anything to hurt me," he said color rising to his cheeks.

Ludwig's face flushed a deep red. "Feliciano!"

"I called it!" France boasted, earning him much eye rolling.

Prussia took his seat on the opposite side of Germany. "Calm your shit, buddy. West would never hurt Feliciano. I live with 'em, I would know." His face scrunched up slightly at the still lingering sounds in his mind of those two going at it last night.

Germany visibly flinched. "Can we _not_ discuss such personal matters?"

"How would you feel if Feli was always bitching and making problems for you and Antonio?"

"Wha-! What are you talking about? That's nothing like…" Lovino trailed off as he realized that he had nothing to counter the albino. He scoffed. "Whatever…bastard."

"Aww, Lovi! You're so cute when you blush!" Spain gushed, not caring about the berating he would receive afterwards.

Soon, the rest of the nations piled in and settled into their designated seats. Unfortunately for Canada, he became one of those seats. He gasped as the sheer weight of Russia on his lap knocked the wind right out of him. He tried his hardest to alert the Russian crushing his vital organs, but he was too winded and nothing but pathetic choking came out. He mentally cursed. He was usually prepared for this and moved out of the way in time, but for the past two or three meetings, Ivan had been good about looking down before he sat. Maybe he had forgotten today, he thought helplessly.

"Hey, you damn iceberg! What the hell? You can't just fucking sit your ass on someone else!"

Ivan sent the bristled Prussian a curious glance, and then looked down. "Ah," he said simply and stood, giggling when Canada gasped, filling his lungs with precious air. "You are so tiny, Canada. I am always losing the sight of you," he said rather innocently. Isn't everyone? He thought bitterly.

"Uh, y-yeah. It's fine." No it wasn't. It never was. He sighed, smoothing his hair and fixing his crooked tie. Well, at least someone noticed. Prussia of all people. With an ego as huge as his, Canada thought he'd be the_ last_ person Prussia would notice. He sent a timid, appreciative glance in Gilbert's direction and was caught off guard by the playful wink he received in return. He quickly averted his mischievous gaze, redirecting his attention instead to England, who had just announced that the meeting was beginning.

* * *

Gilbert couldn't pay attention to save his life. Could these people be any more of a bore? The only reason he was so adamant on coming today was because _he_ was bored. There wasn't much to do in Ludwig's basement but binge on beer and maybe enjoy some dirty magazines. Germany never had much time for him anymore it seemed, and he always had to find new things to occupy himself. The only reason he wasn't drooling all over the table right now was because he was busy staring at the curious Canadian across from him. So, this was Canada, huh? He remembered seeing that pretty face at the last meeting he came to, but his brother dragged him out of the room before he could find out who it was. Those violet eyes caught his for a second time and he held back a snicker at the way the blonde's face flushed. To Gilbert's dismay, the flustered man avoided his gaze for the rest of the meeting, but he was satisfied by the pink hue that never left his face. Oh, there was no way in hell Ludwig would pull him away before he could introduce himself. A light nudge to his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts. He looked to his brother on his left and made a face.

"What?" he asked in a harsh whisper, "I'm not even sleeping!" The way he had said it made him sound like some petulant child. He was sure Germany was about to scold him for something because that was his brother's job, to nag and nitpick at all the awesome things he did.

"Whatever you're doing, stop it," Ludwig said sternly. "People are staring."

If Gilbert hadn't been so confused as to what he was talking about, he would've laughed at how motherly Ludwig sounded at that moment. But instead, he looked around the table, puzzled. His brother wasn't lying; several of the nations were looking in his direction, but quickly looked away once they realized he had noticed them. Gilbert just shrugged, smirking contentedly.

"I can't help it if others are attracted to such awesomeness. I mean, can you really blame them?"

Germany heaved a heavy sigh. "Gilbert, you're making faces at that chair. That's why they're staring at you."

"What?" The Prussian became even more confused. "Chair?" He looked across the table once more at the timid man who insisted on avoiding his eyes. "What the hell are you talking about? There's obviously a-"

"Gilbert," he cut him off, his tone serious. He had already missed information from the meeting and he didn't plan to lose anymore. "I'm not going to argue with you. If you want to make friends with a chair fine, but please, stop bringing attention to yourself. It's distracting." Ludwig didn't enjoy admonishing his brother, but sometimes it was necessary for him to be taken seriously. He was sure Gilbert was just acting out because he had been seated in one place for so long. He wasn't sleeping though, so Ludwig could give him that much at least.

Prussia scoffed. Make friends with a chair? He didn't know what the hell he was talking about. He looked to Canada again and was surprised to see what looked like tears running down the man's cheeks. Was he…crying? He watched the other quickly wipe them away, but then more tears quickly followed suit. Woah, he was. The blonde suddenly stood from his seat and with a hand still wiping at his face he hastily made for the doors, politely excusing himself to the restroom.

Gilbert's eyes followed him as he left. He turned back to the table to see everyone else's reactions, but no one had so much as flinched. He was flabbergasted. Were these people blind? No, they had to have seen him, maybe they were ignoring him? Maybe they're pissed at him or something, he thought. That would probably explain the spontaneous crying, anyway. He looked at the doors once more, and then to England at the head of the table who was talking about something he didn't give two shits about, and then to the doors again. His choice was obvious. He stood from his seat, earning him a sideways glance from his brother.

"I'm just gonna take a piss for Christ's sake. Calm down, _Mutter_," he sassed. Ludwig just rolled his eyes and returned to scribbling his notes.

It was time to see what was up with this Canada guy.

* * *

"Oh, God," Matthew breathed, reaching for more tissues. "Not again."

Why did this have to happen now and _here_ of all places? How embarrassing. He shook his head, wiping at his face. It wasn't as if he had any control over it, anyway. He stared at his reflection in the mirror in disbelief. That man with the sickly pale skin and tired eyes—was that really him? No, he thought. It couldn't be. But as he brought a hand to his face to gingerly touch the unsightly circles under his eyes, he saw the man in the mirror do the same and he could no longer deny it. That man was Matthew Williams. He sighed dejectedly, slipping his glasses off his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. He couldn't deal with this right now. Calm down, Matthew, he told himself. There was no use in getting worked up. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. When he opened his eyes, he nearly fainted.

Behind him, leaning against one of the stalls, stood "the world's greatest nation." His hands were shoved in his pockets and he had an odd look on his face. Odd because he actually looked…concerned. Even as he saw the Canadian's body go rigid, he didn't speak. He actually didn't know what to say.

With shaky hands Matthew placed his glasses back on his face and slowly, very slowly turned around. "P-Prussia," he stuttered, mentally cursing the blood rushing to his cheeks.

He allowed himself a small smirk, despite the situation. "The one and only."

Matthew bit his lip, looking down at the smooth granite tiles beneath his feet. "How long have you been standing there?" he asked quietly.

Gilbert shrugged. "Long enough to know that something's giving you a hell of a lot of trouble."

Matthew stayed silent, mortified that the other had seen his borderline breakdown. He knew more likely than not that Prussia had to have seen him leave the room, but he was sure the man didn't care—he was the epitome of narcissism. And that simple fact was the reason why Matthew still had no idea why Prussia was standing there in front of him.

Gilbert broke the silence. "Why were you crying?"

The blonde's head snapped up. "N-No, I wasn't crying."

"Heh," he chuckled sarcastically, crossing his arms at his chest. "Yeah, and I'm Jesus Christ." He eyed the wad of tissues by one of the sinks.

"No, really!" he insisted. "I just…I have allergies, okay?" He gave a little pout that Gilbert found adorable. "Sometimes my eyes get really irritated!"

"Alright, alright." Gilbert held his hands up defensively, though he didn't believe such an obvious excuse.

"Anyway, um," he said, quickly changing the subject. "Thanks…for, uh, earlier."

Gilbert didn't bother hiding his confusion. "Huh? Earlier?"

"For, you know," he laughed weakly, tossing his trash in a nearby bin. "Getting Russia's attention."

"Oh, that." Gilbert frowned at the memory. "Don't mention it. I can't believe that icy bastard just sat on you like that."

"Ah, well." Canada shrugged. "I'm used to it by now."

"You're _used_ to being _sat on_?"

Matthew chuckled bitterly. "Pretty pathetic, eh?"

Gilbert quickly back peddled. "No, I didn't mean—what I meant was—"

"Why did you follow me?" Matthew asked, sounding genuinely curious, if not a little confused. Once again, this guy was the most egocentric person he'd ever seen. He was still bewildered by the fact that Prussia could even _see_ him.

The albino scratched the back of his head. "Well, I mean you ran outta the room looking all upset and nobody else seemed to give a shit, so…" he trailed off, shrugging nonchalantly. "I thought, being the awesome person I am, that I could cheer you up."

"Oh…" Matthew definitely wasn't expecting that sort of answer, and before he knew it a small smile had reached his lips. "That's…nice of you."

"Hell yeah, it is! It comes with being awesome, you know," he boasted.

Matthew rolled his eyes slightly, laughing softly. "Yes, I'm sure."

"In fact," Gilbert continued, throwing an arm around the other's shoulder. "You wanna know how nice I am?"

A squeaky 'eh?' was all Matthew could manage as he had become flustered by the closeness of the Prussian and couldn't help but notice the pleasant scent of his cologne.

"I'm so nice that I'm gonna take you out to lunch with me," he finished, a huge grin on his face.

"W-Wait, Lunch?!" Matthew was sure he hadn't heard right.

"Ja, lunch," Gilbert said, pulling back his sleeve to reveal a sleek wristwatch. He tapped the face. "It's ten till noon. Don't tell me you aren't hungry?"

Matthew shook his head. "No, I-I mean I am it's just...me?" He cringed at the convoluted mess that came out of his mouth. Fortunately, Gilbert understood what he was trying to say.

He snorted. "Yeah you. I asked you, didn't I?" He peered over Matthew's shoulder down the row of seemingly endless bathroom stalls. Matthew looked back curiously. "Unless there are any other Canadas here I don't know about," he teased.

"Haha. Very funny," he said wryly. "Um, where would you like to go then?"

He honestly still couldn't believe that someone, let alone the fact that it was _Prussia, _actually _wanted _to have lunch with him. Alfred used to invite him out to lunch along with Japan and England, but he knew his brother only did it because he felt obligated. They usually forgot about him halfway through the meal. That is, until it came time to pay the bill. There was only so much he could take. He hadn't been out to lunch with another nation in years.

"That, little birdie, is a surprise," he said vaguely and without any warning at all, promptly unzipped his pants.

"Wh-What are you doing!" Matthew squawked, quickly shielding his eyes. He heard him walking away in the opposite direction.

"Taking a piss," he answered frankly, settling himself in front of a urinal. "We _are_ in a bathroom, remember?"

"Ah, ok then…I'll let you do that. I'll see you…later," he said, slipping awkwardly through the exit, face red as the leaf on his country's flag.

"You better not stand me up, birdie!" Gilbert called after him, another grin stretching its way across his face.

**AN: Matt made an awesome new friend in the john. Pretty cool, huh? And with that, I bid you adieu! Next Chapter: Lunch With Prussia!**


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